Home School Invasion

Please enjoy this short story while I continue to work on the recap of the novel. This is called, "Home School Invasion".


Garrett and Clay frantically ran into my room, interrupting their older brother’s school time. The two heralded the news that baby mice were under the stairs in the storage closet.  I was half tempted to entertain myself with a panicky scream of “Quick! Run!” just to see how far down the street their little feet would take them.  Instead I decided it was time for my fourth grader to take a break so I could examine the situation further.  

I investigated the scene by taking a quick peek inside the little room, and a peek was all I needed.  I had no desire to get any closer to the little pink and gray rodents crawling all over each other in the corner.  I decided to leave it for my husband to deal with later.  

While making lunch, I questioned 6-year-old, Garrett.  Here’s what I discovered.

Apparently, their first encounter was the day before again while Mom was occupied with older “Brother Wesley”.  So, Garrett and his preschool-aged little brother, Clay, decided to play under the stairs.  Now they had not ventured under there for quite some time prior to that day, but boredom got the best of them.  

As usual, when the two youngest boys finished up their schoolwork, they had “free time” while Wesley completed his work with Mom helping him when necessary.  By mid-morning, the “V-smile” computer game was usually turned on and hooked up to the TV for the two little ones to take turns on while I continued my day, picking up, folding laundry, and checking on all three boys.  

With Wesley entering a new lesson in math, he needed me more than usual the last two days, so Garrett and Clay took advantage of the extra freedom by abandoning the computer game to explore once again their play area under the stairs after its long vacancy.  

Only it wasn’t vacant at all.  

That previous day, those little pink and gray pests looked more like giant pink pill bugs, and young imaginative minds thought their family was under attack.  So, how did my little men counter the enemy?  

Scissors!  

My face fell into my hands as Garrett revealed to me more of the story.  Of course I was thinking, “Great!  Now I’ve got to punish them for playing with scissors.”  Still of even greater concern was, “What in the world did they DO with the scissors?”

I naturally jumped to the conclusion that Garrett was the genius behind the plan of action, just as anyone else would assume who has ever known that little booger.  Nope!  Clay, my innocent little 4-year-old, was the one who retrieved the weapon and, yes, actually sliced through one of the bugs...I mean mice.  

On the other hand, Garrett, being impressed with his younger brother's defensive move, jumped at the opportunity to save his family and household from invasion.  But my eyes grew to the size of quarters as I learned that his choice of weaponry was the crinkle cut craft scissors!  With a dull-edged blade and a fat squishy body to use it on, he did nothing more than crush internal organs of the tiny defenseless victim.  

The two warriors apparently retreated from the battlefield at the sound of Mom’s feet coming down the stairs, echoing above them, and they remained loyal to the secrecy of their mission for a whole day.  It was the unexpected developments that occurred overnight that gave them reason to break their confidentiality.  For at the second campaign to free their family of those imagined invading “combatants”, it appeared that they were different creatures altogether.  

Not only did they look different, they looked familiar.  A quick search of his amazing little mind sent Garrett searching through his Disney’s Children’s Encyclopedia.  He remembered a picture he’d seen before in that book of critters that looked just like our home’s invaders. He soon found the colorful page and sounded out the words of the caption, “A family of mice.”  

And that’s when the rascals ran into my room.  

By the end of the recap from Garrett, Wesley was downstairs peeking in the closet at the mice, and minutes later, their 16-year-old sister, Tori, joined us.  Of course, she was curious of what all the excitement was about, so I dared her to take a look under the stairs.

She wouldn’t fall for it.

We filled her in, and, sure enough, she was too chicken to see for herself and too curious to drop the issue.  I realized the rest of the day was shot and no one could concentrate on their schoolwork unless we took one more opportunity to spy those nasty little things just to get it out of our system.

The five of us traipsed into the laundry room, the only access to the door of this hidden storage space.  I led the way, opened the door, and hunched down to take a step through the dwarf-sized passageway.  Still bent over, I reached up to flick on the light when big bad Mama Mouse dashed through the doorway at full speed out of the closet and into the laundry room right across my bare feet.  

Our ridiculous reaction to a harmless 4-inch long field mouse plays in my memory as if it all happened in slow motion.

An odd sound of surprise projected from my vocal cords cut short by a shout of “Ouch!” as my head thrusted up hitting the top of the miniature door frame.  Though jarred by the collision, my eyesight still caught my agile 6-year-old jump like a frightened cat onto the washing machine as well as my daughter’s long golden hair fly through the air as she whirled around and ran for her life out of the laundry room, reaching down to swoop up Clay on her way out.  

I raced right behind her holding my sore head but looked back to witness “Garrett the Great” bound through the air like a superhero off the washing machine and through the doorway, landing in the hall and crashing at my legs, causing me to go down with him.  He managed to miss the linoleum altogether as if touching it meant landing on mouse territory and his ultimate doom.  Stammering to our feet, we simultaneously both reached back to pull the door shut, actually slamming it and then finally caught a breath of relief.

Realizing how silly I looked, I chuckled at myself as I ventured around the corner of the hall, searching for my children.  

Come to find, Wesley was the first to flee the scene.  I had expected more from my oldest son, but never the less, I found him standing on the breakfast table, and my chuckling turned into full-blown laughter seeing him there laughing and crying at the same time.  

Then I heard two more giggly voices join in from the top of the stairs.  I looked up to see Tori tightly holding her brother, Clay, while sitting on the top step at the landing.

“Well, at least you saved your favorite,” I said while still trying to catch my breath and control my amusement.  With wide eyes and smiles on both their faces, they nodded while my daughter squeezed the baby of the family.  

It took awhile to compose ourselves enough to get anything done.  We decided to call it a day as far as school goes and run some errands.  

While doing our shopping, Tori took out my cell phone and called her Grandma.  She couldn’t wait to tell our story.  And the first words out of her mouth?  

“Guess what, Grandma, Garrett and Clay cut up baby mice with scissors.”  

Unfortunately, my mother’s imagination can sometimes go down a strange path, and an opening like that didn’t help.  By the time I put the phone up to my ear, I heard a paranoid woman telling me that I need to get my son’s checked out because they’re displaying signs of future psychopaths.  I pulled the phone away from my ear and looked at it in disbelief at the comment I had just heard.  Then shaking my head, I said, “Mom, my boys are fine.  I’ve gotta go.  I’ll talk to you later.”

Though our evening wasn’t quite as exciting, the kids were a perfect audience, sitting there lined up on the counter of the laundry room, including the teenager, as they watched Dad disappear into the now forbidden closet and reappear again with the surviving critters and their two deceased siblings, one of them in two pieces.  

The baby rodents were quickly disposed of and for almost two straight weeks, our mouse traps were filled daily.  Likewise, our faces were filled with laughter as we told and retold the story to friends and family remembering that comical day.  

And, yes, I did clear things up with my mom.  She no longer is worried that either one of her youngest grandsons will grow up to be the next Jeffrey Dahmer.

Amie Spruiell

Jan 2007

After the Event Post 11

I know a few more weeks have gone by, so I've copied more from the last post below.  With my boys finishing up school, I should be back in the swing of things with this book...God willing.

Slipping into my flip flops, I was ready to head out by 10pm, so I used Grandma’s cell phone to call Brandon.  I stepped out into the hallway so no one would hear me telling him I was ready a little early then deleted the call before going back inside to return it to the nightstand. 

I was finally going to do it, and I wasn’t even nervous. 

(Day 18)

                      “So, that’s when you did it.”  Mom cuts me off in the middle of my story.  “It wasn’t Friday, it was Saturday.  And Gus knew about it?”  Her tone was getting angry again.

                      “No, he had no idea who they were and never asked me.  I swear, Mom, Gus was clueless.”

                      “The laundry gave you the opportunity, didn’t it?  OK, fine,” she puts her hands out in front of her and cocks her head resettling her nerves, “you left the room around 10 or so and walked to McDonald’s and some guy picked you up and took you to a party.  Is that what you’re saying?”  I nod my head in answer her question. 

She gets up and leaves the bathroom.  I’m not sure if we’re done talking, but then she returns a few moments later.  She had just left to check on Cole.  “Go on.  Let’s hear the rest.”  She says gently.  This time she is sitting on the toilet, leaning forward, elbows on her knees, and eyes on my face.

Chapter 10

(Day 18)

It feels really weird sitting on the floor of the bathroom of our hotel room, telling my Mom what I once thought I would never admit to. Still I push through. 

I take a deep breath and unclench my hands….

It wasn’t a big place, and it was hardly decorated except for a few wall hangings of lit up beer signs that looked like they probably came out of a dumpster in the back of a liquor store…super tacky.  It was obvious that only a couple of single guys lived there.  I counted seven people including myself.  I know Brandon said it would just be friends hanging out, and it’s not like I envisioned some huge rave or anything like that, but it turned to be a little disappointing.

However, they did have a pool table, a stereo, and a folding table set up for the beer pong.  There was also a couch covered with a sheet –God knows why- , a cheap kitchen table with chairs, and several other folding chairs scattered around.  The kitchen counter was cluttered with empty beer cans stacking up as well as plenty of red solo cups and bowls of chips and salsa.  A sliding glass door led to the backyard porch where there was another folding table and chairs set up next to a couple of coolers.  A guy and a girl were sitting out there the whole time smoking…both weed and cigarettes…while tossing a ball out to the grass playing fetch with a medium sized mutt.

They offered me everything, but I turned it down saying that we have an early morning the next day.  I played a couple of games of pool, but turned down beer pong saying I wasn’t very good and didn’t want to drink.  Fortunately, they had some soda they were using as mixers for their Bacardi which I helped myself to.  They didn’t push too hard for me to join them in their intoxication, but politely offered several times.

                      “Wait!  So, they had been drinking when they picked you up?”  I nodded my head again.  “Then they drank more and got high and drove you back?”

                      “No, Mom.  It didn’t quite happen that way.”

                      “I’m not surprised that you didn’t drink.  You could never even stand the smell of alcohol.  But I am surprised that you didn’t experiment with pot.”

                      “I told them that it makes me sick to my stomach,” I clarify, looking up at Mom and smiling as if we shared an inside joke.

                      “You used my line,” she smiles back at me, “Well, by all means, continue.”

Not long after I was introduced to everyone, I asked if anyone had heard from Brian or knew when he was coming.  So, Brandon told Jay, one of the older guys who lived there, to give Brian a call and tell him to come on over. 

I didn’t do too terrible at pool.  I watched them all carefully for how to hold the stick.  I’d played before at a friend’s house, but it had been awhile.  I didn’t want to let on that I was inexperienced.  I had visions of some guy coming up behind me to show me how to hold the stick pressing into my white jean shorts.  The thought freaked me out. 

                      “No kidding!  It freaks me out to picture you in your white jean shorts leaning over a pool table.  I’ve tried to tell you before, Letti.  You’re quite curvy back there.  I see guys staring at you all the time.  I never wanted to buy you those shorts either.”

                      “OK, Mom.  Just let me finish.”  I cut her off not wanting to go to that conversation.  The last time she and I went clothes shopping, I yelled at her in the dressing room of Kohl’s that I was never going shopping with her again.  The whole store heard.  I didn’t even care that I made her cry.

She relents and bows her head, slightly opening her hands to indicate I should proceed.

No one was really inappropriate with me, but I realize now that it’s because I didn’t stay long enough for anything to happen.  The girl outside was really nice, so I sat and talked with her for a little while.   When I walked back inside to ask again about Brian, Brandon and Carl were just walking out of a room off of the hallway.  I could see billowy white clouds of smoke in the room as they opened the door.  It seemed strange that they would be smoking inside when most everyone else was doing it out on the porch, plus there was something very odd about how it all smelled.  I got the feeling that it wasn’t the same as what they were doing outside.  I asked about it, and they told me they were just taking a few hits.

I was curious what they meant by that, so I followed them back into the mysteriously smoky room.  One of the other guys was sitting on the bed holding a strange looking pipe. 

I asked and was told that it was meth.  Of course, they offered that to me as well. 

                      “And you considered actually doing it?”  Mom asks but it sounds more like a statement of conclusion.  I thought I could actually hear her heart breaking.

                              

I proceed to tell her the rest.

I did think of trying it.  I’d had a few conversations with my cousins in the past about it.  But at that moment in time, it was only a brief thought.  Since I was feeling guilty for turning down everything they were offering, I said that I was ready to play beer pong.  They were thrilled.  And it got me out of the room.

In the middle of the second game, Brian finally showed up.  He was shocked to see me.  He also seemed irritated, but I wasn’t sure why.  He spent a few minutes of cordially greeting all who were there with words of “hey” back and forth between everyone.  He suggested I finish up the game so he could take me back to my hotel.

The guys acted disappointed.  They talked like they were coming to my rescue, as if I wanted to stay.  Brandon told Brian he would take me back, but Brian won the argument.  I didn’t finish the game, though, because I wanted to leave immediately.  I knew it was getting late, and I needed to sneak back into the room.

                      “You also liked the idea of being alone with Brian driving back, right?” she asked.

                      “Ya, I guess I did, but it didn’t turn out the way I had envisioned.  And, I want to point out that my ride back was with someone who was sober, Mom.”  I tell her trying to calm down her worries; if that’s even possible at this point.

                      “But you weren’t sober.”

                      “Yes, I was!”

                      “Letti, you were playing beer pong.  Or did they allow you to use soda? And what the heck is beer pong, anyway?  Is that like playing quarters only with a ping pong ball?”

                      “I have no idea what quarters is, Mom, and I didn’t drink any beer because…I won….”  It feels good to say that with a tilted smiling face.

                      “Very funny, but that’s not the end of your story.  What was the ride back like with the boy you were so enamored with?”  Mom’s voice has an obviously relieved tone to it.  She’s now just curious about her daughter’s experience alone with an older guy.  But it was this part I found the most difficult to talk about.  I sit quietly for a moment and close my eyes remembering.

(Day 5…just before midnight)

Brian wasn’t just irritated.  He was furious.  But I think it was mostly that he was scared to see me there at that house, and wondered what had gone on before he arrived. 

                      “What the hell were doing there, girl?  At your age!  Jesus, you’ve been here for just two days and got hooked up with those creeps?”  He just kept going on and on while driving, which left me with not knowing how to answer.  “What are you, like 13…14…come on.  You’re way too young to be in a group of losers like that!”

                      “Why do you keep talking about them like that?  I thought you were all friends.”  I finally responded to his outburst. 

                      “Friends?  Hell no!  I know Jay because he’s friends with my brother.  I know a few from work, and I’ve met the rest a time or two, but we’re not friends.  Who told you that line of crap?  Brandon?  He’s an ass.”  I sat in the passenger seat afraid to respond. 

I thought he was handsome the day before, and I wasn’t wrong.  He was definitely even more attractive in this angry state of mind, but the yelling and cursing was a little frightening. 

                      “Just tell me what you were thinking showing up there, little cousin!”  I couldn’t believe he called me that.  Cousin or not, there was no real relationship between us, and before yesterday, he was a stranger.  Still, it made me feel safe when he referred to me that way.  It was like he considered me someone to protect.

                      “I just wanted to see you.”  I finally confessed to this awesome hunk driving me down some main street of Claremore, Oklahoma. 

                                                             

                      “Jesus Christ!”  He belted out in response to my vulnerable confession.  Shaking his head, he obviously wasn’t expecting to hear those words from me.  I wasn’t sure who was more in shock though, him or me.

At that moment in time, “Beautiful Brian” turned into “Bad-Mouthed Brian”.  It’s not like I’m too much of a prudish snob to handle explicit language out of the mouths of others.  I could care less about certain words, but I hate it when someone uses God’s name in vain.

Before either one of us could say anything, I felt something crawling on my leg and completely freaked out when I saw it was a spider.

                      “Oh my gosh!  Get it off me!  Brian!  Pull over!”  I rattled off in a panic.

                      “What in the hell is your problem, girl?”  He started swerving while I was practically standing on the seat of his truck.  With one hand on his flexed arm and the other pressed up against the passenger window trying to balance myself, I was screaming at him.

                      “Just pull over!  Now!”

He did as I demanded.  As the truck came to a screeching halt, I threw open the door, jumping out and stumbling several steps to get far from the cab of the truck as I could.  He got out, slammed his door, and stormed over to my side of the vehicle.

                      “I’m sorry!”  I managed to squeeze out in between coughs and gasps of air.  “I just can’t handle spiders.”

                      “You know this is not my idea of a Saturday night.  I really wish you hadn’t gone with Brandon.  It scared me to death seeing you there.  You’re young and innocent, and those guys…they want you to think they’re your friends, but they’re not.  Do you hear me, Letti.  They’re not your friends!  They just want you to think that so they can get you fucking wasted with their drugs and take advantage of you.  When I think what could’ve happened if I hadn’t showed up…God!”  He was pacing around the side of the road going off on me while I was hunched over with my hands on my knees still catching my breath.

By the time he had finished, and I had calmed my breathing, I sat down on the curb, pathetically saying to him that I was sorry.  Other than my parents, I’ve never seen anyone so concerned over me.  The entire situation both humiliated me and swept me off my feet at the same time.

I refused to get back into the truck until he proved to me that there were no more spiders.  I made him search through the whole cab first.

On the way back to the Comfort Inn, we had a somewhat decent conversation even though I was constantly looking for spiders and rubbing my hands over my exposed legs to make sure nothing was crawling on me. 

I tried to convince him that I was 17, but it didn’t work.  He dropped me off at exactly 11:55 pm.  I was torn inside.  He made me feel so safe that I didn’t want to walk away.  On the other hand, my embarrassment made want to run as far away as possible.  I looked back to see if he would at least give me a charming smile and a romantic word.  The smile was there, but all he said to me was to go to bed, calling me “little girl”. 

I was safe and sound 10 minutes later under the covers next to Walker.  Grandma woke me up bright and early at 6.  It was time to get back on schedule.

(Day 18)

                      “Letti,” Mom whispers after I finish my story, “you said something…it was something Brian said to you…he said ‘they’re not your friends.’”

                      “Yes, he said that.  He was trying to explain that those guys were just….”

                      “I know what he was trying to explain to you, Letti,” she cuts me off, her voice a little louder now, and I curiously look up at her.  “Don’t you remember hearing those words a couple days ago?”

                      “What are you talking about?”

                      “Tiffany.  Remember?  She was talking about those people Charlotte hung out with.  She kept saying, ‘She thought they were her friends.’”

My cousin had gotten involved with some really corrupt people over the last several months.  It was after Skylar was born.  I know that much because she and I talked quite a bit at her baby shower.  She had not even tried meth by that point, but knew her sisters were experimenting with it.  A few months later, Char followed the same path but went even further.  The people, the gang members she got involved with, had made her believe that they were her friends…that she was part of them.  As if she was protected by them. 

But she wasn’t protected.  She was betrayed.   

With Brian still on my mind, I realize that he’s just as related to Charlotte as he is to me.  Yet, God placed him in my life at a pivotal moment, not hers.  Why?

                      “Mom, I just don’t get it!”  I say as we both stand up and leave the bathroom.  It was time to open the curtains, turn the lights on, and start waking Cole up from his nap.

                      “You don’t get what, Letti?”

                      “I know you had your teenage ‘wild’ years.  I know Tiffany did too.” 

                      “And…?”  She was flinging wide the curtains, but turned to look at me wondering where my line of questioning was going.

                      “Mom,” my voice was quiet giving Cole a chance to slowly wake up, “why is it you did your thing, and…others do their thing, and…you all turn out OK, but…”

She sits down on the bed next to her son and reaches out to gently nudge him.  Sitting on the other bed watching her, I shake my head thinking about all the stories Mom’s told me about her past.  Some of them she had only revealed to me less than a week ago when we were having a heart to heart conversation at one of our stops.  What if something had happened to her?  There wouldn’t be this precious little boy slowly coming out of dreamland right before my eyes.  I think of Gus and Walker.  I wouldn’t even be here.

                      “It’s like how you hear people talking about all the crazy stuff they used to do and how it’s a miracle they survived their youth.”  Mom says to me.  Sounds like she really does understand what I’m getting at. 

                      “Ya, I know.  Why is that?  How is that?”  I can’t take my eyes off of her.  My heart is in turmoil, and I‘m looking to her for answers.

                      “Honey, you can’t make choices based on the fact that so and so did this and that and turned out fine.”  She pauses searching for a way to explain.  “It’s like playing Russian Roulette, you know what I mean?” 

                      “Ya, that’s the gun thing, right?”

                      “Ya!  …the gun thing…and it’s just stupid, Letti.”  Hearing our voices grow louder, Cole starts stirring.  “Come on, Honey, time to wake up,” Mom says momentarily turning her attention to her baby boy. 

I walk over to our little cooler that had been devoured by the boys this morning and find Cole’s sippy cup still half full with milk.  I bring it to Cole and he sits up, happy to see it.

                      “She was just so young.”  I say after a long sigh and plopping back on the bed.

                      “I know.  And she had that personality, you know?  The one that makes you think about all the potential she has, and you’re just waiting for her to grow up and use it.  She was quick-witted and rambunctious.  She definitely had a mouth on her and a determination.  I know she got herself into a lot of trouble, but I always thought those characteristics would take her someplace better in life.”  Mom pauses and looks down, thinking before finishing.  “She may not have seen herself as a child, but she was.  And it always sucks when kids die, no matter how it happens.  They barely get a chance to live.  It’s like they’re here and they’re gone and…,” she abruptly stops and looks around the room as if she’s searching her mind for something.

                      “What?”  I ask hoping nothing’s wrong.  She stares at me and waits a few moments more before answering.

                      “Don’t we have a Casting Crowns CD in the car?” 

                      “I think so.”

Mom picks up Cole after wrapping his “blanky” around him, and grabs her keys to the Suburban.  She tells me to grab the key card and come with her.  After we all climb in the front with Cole looking at us as if we’ve just lost our minds for not putting him in his car seat, Mom starts the car and we pop in the CD.  She skips to the song, “Who Am I,” and we sit in the air conditioned, idling machine listening to the most perfect song for Char.

Back in the room, we busy ourselves with getting ready for the viewing.  Going through the dressier outfits we brought, we decide what to wear today as well as tomorrow for the funeral.  I have certain phrases from the song playing in my head as Mom hums the tune. 

Wandering heart… flower quickly fading…vapor in the wind…calm the storm…who am I…I am Yours…whom shall I fear….  There’s a lot I still fear.

While throwing some extra clothes in a smaller bag so we can go swimming at the house after the viewing, I hear Mom call out. 

                      “Cole, what are you doing?”  I look up and see Mom in the entry looking into the bathroom with her hands on her hips, only she’s not looking down, she’s looking up.  With curiosity getting the best of me, I rush over to her side.

Cole’s standing on the counter top looking at himself in the mirror.  Wearing his dressy wranglers, a “Veggie Tales” t-shirt, and a clip-on tie, he works at tucking the shirt into his jeans revealing the belt he has on with the big “G” on the belt buckle.  Mom and I chuckle while watching him.  Seeing us fills him with pride as he smiles wide and stretches his neck up to show off the tie.  Then he carelessly steps back placing one foot on the ledge.  Mom lunges and catches him just as he starts to lose his balance almost plummeting to the floor.

                      “See that Cole?  You should know better!  Climbing onto the counter like that,” Mom rebukes her son, but then places him back up on the counter standing behind him so he can’t fall again.  I go to grab his cowboy boots off the bed, and we help him finish getting ready. 

                      “Mom, why didn’t you guys get all the boys custom belts?  Walker and Cole always steal Gus’s.”

                      “I don’t know.  We got that for Gus for Christmas at a specialty shop when Walker was six months old and just never went back and got any more for the others.  They don’t care,” she answers.

                      “Gus does.  He hates it when they wear it.  Did you ask your brother before taking this, Cole?”  He responds to my question shaking his head while smiling.  I remember how many times Gus and Walker fought over the belt on the trip.

Chapter 11

(Day 6)

I felt wiped out climbing into the Suburban to get on the road for the 5^th time.  I’m sure everyone else felt refreshed spending two days in one place and having a break from driving, but of course I had to choose to use that time differently.  Mom and Grandma acted like I was a saint for staying up doing laundry and kept assuring me that I’ll get caught up with my sleep on the road.  Instead of feeling guilty about their “fussing” over me, I just got annoyed.

                      “Are we all ready to go?” Mom asked from the driver’s seat.

                      “Yes!” most of us responded.

                      “OK.  Did everybody poop?”

                      “Yes!” some of us affirmed.

                      “Are you wearing any underpants, Walker?”  Seriously Mom?  How long is the questioning gonna go on?

                      “Yes ma’am,” Walker proudly answered.

                      “Mom, Walker’s wearing my belt again,” Gus complained giving his brother a dirty look.

                      “Gus, it doesn’t even fit you anymore.  Why can’t you just give it to him?” Mom answered with a sigh as she put the key into the ignition.  She released the emergency brake, put her foot on the brake pedal, and turned the key.

They next thing we know, there’s a terribly loud clicking sound coming from the ignition but no engine starting up.  Quick reacting Walker freaked out.

                      “Wha…wha…what’s happening?!?” he yelled out after stuttering a little.

                      “Walker, stop yelling,” Mom yelled back at him.

                      “It’s gonna blow!” he screamed and then hit the floor.

Gus cracked up at Walker, Cole leaned over his car seat looking at his older brother huddled on the floor board, and Mom shushed the whole car. 

                     

                      “Is everything alright?” I asked.

                      “I don’t know.  Mom, what do you think?  You’re married to the mechanic,” my obviously worried mother looked to her own mother for help.

                      “Don’t look at me.  Red never taught me a thing about cars.  And I never asked.”

I pulled Walker up off the floor while telling him to knock it off.

                      “Why in the world would Walker think the car was gonna blow?” Mom asked to herself, “and what makes him think crouching down on the floor board would’ve saved him?”

                      “Oh, I know why,” I chimed in, “He kept sneaking peeks at the gangster movie I was watching last night.”  Mom glared at me, but was too preoccupied to address my choice of entertainment.  She chose to let it go.

                      “Oh, so that’s why he was in your bed this morning,” is all she said to that issue.  “Mom, do you still have the number for your cousin?  His grandson’s a mechanic.  If anything, maybe he could give us some advice,” Mom suggests, and Grandma was already searching through her purse looking for the number.

An hour later, Mom and Grandma had conversations with Red, Dad, Cousin Bill, a towing company, and even Brian.  My anxiety was growing to great heights watching the tow truck hook us up to take us to Brian’s shop.  A million things were going through my mind, especially, this can’t be happening.

To be continued….

Written by Amie Spruiell

Amie Spruiell After the Event © 2016